Twenty-Three

In the main hall, M'thar sat on one of the wooden chairs, an array of knives and daggers before him alongside a whetstone and light oil. The lizard-like creature looked up as Dumar entered and watched him cross the room with the tray, setting atop the table.

"Morning," Dumar said quietly.

"Dumar," came the response with a slight nod of the head before the Pat'nathoor continued cleaning and sharpening the blades before him.

The silence that stretched out between the two was only broken by the scraping hiss of blade against stone. Dumar withdrew the side-arm and began to disassemble the various pieces, even removing each round from the magazine and standing them on the wooden surface.

As the big man worked he noticed M'thar had slowed his cleaning and sharpening as his interest in the activities of the big man took over.

"What is that device?" M'thar rasped in his unusual accent, his tongue flicking out to moisten his black eyes.

"This?" Dumar replied. "Is a semi-automatic machine pistol, capable of firing up to two hundred rounds per minute, .40 calibre," the big man had been reassembling the weapon as he spoke and now began reloading the magazine with live rounds.

M'thar watched in silence for a moment.

"What does it do?"

Dumar stared at the odd looking being for a moment to see if he were actually being serious and although M'thar's face was not created to convey expressions, the big man could tell he was genuinely wondering.

"It's a weapon, M'thar, for killing people," Dumar stated in a flat tone.

"It seems quite small," M'thar added in a sceptical tone. "How does it work?"

Dumar held up the final round of ammunition before he placed it in the magazine and indicated the bullet and casing.

"This section contains an explosive charge which propels this bullet forward and into whatever it's pointed at," Dumar explained before inserting it into the magazine and slapping it back into the pistol.

He ensured the safety switch was engaged and holstered the weapon.

"Looks like you've come ready for a fight," he added, indicating the knives.

M'thar shook his head.

"These blades are not for battle, they are ceremonial," he explained. "Each one was originally carried by one of the clan leaders of my people. My father assisted me in their recovery after he had explained my whole race had been destroyed."

The lizard like creature selected a curved knife with a highly polished, bone handle. The blade had been etched with symbols which could have been a script unknown to Dumar or just patterns.

"This was once owned by the High Chief of all the clans and is the last remaining symbol of the leadership of the Pat'nathoor."

"How'd you find out about all this stuff if they'd all been wiped out before you were born?" Dumar wondered.

"Hatched," M'thar corrected. "And my father helped me find and sort through the ruins," the large creature looked at Dumar. "My people had been left to rot where they were slain.

"No funerary rites had been performed, not one burial had even been attempted," M'thar trailed off as he looked down and ran one taloned hand across his head in a very human way.

Dumar realised this whole subject was upsetting to him and gave him a few moments before gently speaking again.

"I'd go with you and help bury any remains we can find," Dumar offered. "If the opportunity ever comes up, that is," he added.

The big man had been staring at M'thar as he made the promise and noted the speed with which his head snapped up.

"Why would you offer to do such a thing?" The lizard like creature asked in amazement.

Dumar considered for a moment before answering.

"A couple of reasons," he began. "First, because it's the right thing to do. Then, I can see it means a great deal to you and although we haven't known each other for very long, I hope I can call you a friend."

M'thar remained silent for a few moments, his throat working as if swallowing something difficult.

"For the simple act of offering to do such a thing," M'thar said heatedly. "I count you as a brother."

Thrusting his clawed hand towards Dumar, he grasped the big man's forearm and drew himself close.

"No one, save my father, has ever offered such a kindness to such as I and I will never forget it as long as I exist."

"Well it looks like I overshot things there," Dumar said. "I was just hoping for a pal, not get a new relation," he added with a grin.

Grethron entered from outside and looked at the two men as they released their grasp, stomping across to the table and flopping himself down into a chair.

"You seem to be in a happier state of mind this morning," the old Necromancer growled his observation towards Dumar. "May I ask what happened last night that caused you to leave?"

Dumar looked unflinchingly into the black pearl eyes of M'thar and answered.

"Painful memories."

Grethron knew something had been communicated between the two warriors yet had no idea what.

"Yes. Well. I apologise if I caused any distress," the old man added.

Dumar shook his head and sat back down, thinking briefly of Smitty.

"Not you, matey," he mumbled.

"Where have you been this morning, father?" M'thar asked as he returned to cleaning the array of knives and daggers before him.

Grethron was staring aimlessly at the floor now, engrossed in some thought or other until the question dragged his attention back to the present.

"Sorry. I have arranged for transport to the palace at noon, a small carriage for the three of us." He stated.

"A carriage?" M'thar said with some surprise. "I would have thought you would have enjoyed the walk and it would allow Dumar to view the more pleasant sights of the city."

"I had considered such myself," Grethron replied as he scratched one cheek. "However, he is ever so slightly conspicuous," the old man indicated Dumar. "And I wish to keep things as low profile as possible. There will be ample opportunity for sightseeing from the carriage however so he will not miss out."

"You said three," Dumar interjected.

"Pardon?" The old man said. "Three?"

Dumar nodded.

"Yes, before all that crap about me being conspicuous, you said you'd arranged a carriage for the three of us. There's you two, me and you said you'd be taking Vilt, that's four."

M'thar snorted at this and Grethron made a face before replying.

"Ah, well, the people of Lorneria are somewhat xenophobic and my son..." The old man was interrupted by M'thar who grunted.

"I am not welcome in this city or, indeed, most of the country. The tiny minded fools who live here would either run in terror or attack me out of fear due to my appearance."

The lizard like creature slammed the dagger he held into its scabbard savagely as Sherilee and Vilt entered with a mighty array of food and the sounds of eating were the only ones to be heard for some time.

Eventually satisfied, Grethron told Dumar and Vilt to make ready and meet him back in the great hall as soon as possible.

Dumar returned to the room in which he had been sleeping and collected the backpack he had appropriated the night before, quickly checking the contents before leaving once more to return.